Abyss
by SarcasticGal68
Summary: AU Hermione Granger despises the Wizarding World. In a world where the golden trio never existed, Hermione finds her path to greatness through different means after the troll's attack changed everything. Scarred, traumatized and thirsty for revenge, what's to stop her from ridding the Wizarding World of the imbeciles who rule it? Dark!Hermione
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: What do you mean, I don't own Harry Potter? :(**

* * *

Loneliness was a steep, slippery staircase into madness.

It was something Hermione Granger was all too familiar with, the desolation and emptiness that stalked society's outcasts, that sinking feeling one experienced when they awoke to yet another friendless, monotonous day. After all, what was she but the very epitome of 'outcast'? From the very beginning, before she was even aware of the existence of the vicious, two-faced society of magicals, she had already been deemed as "weird", a "teacher's pet" and the "ostracized know-it-all weird things always happened to".

Hermione Granger. Classic definition of socially inept.

She had, of course, tried to befriend her peers, and assimilate into the crowd, but the sad reality was that over ninety percent of her peers had not even heard of the word assimilate. It figured that this led to great misunderstandings. ("Huh? Ass-immigrate? I-I'll ass-immigrate _you_!") Simplifying her words outraged them, explaining words sparked snide comments and spite, and not speaking at all won her a wide berth from her classmates. In short, she was stuck. Go figure.

Her parents, of course, realized that she was extraordinarily intelligent for her age, and not having any other children to compare it to, never truly realized the extent of the gap between her and her peers. Her natural maturity and quick wit led them to treat her as more of a close friend than a coddled daughter at times. She was debating with them over controversial topics like prostitution and homosexuality from young, and it never occurred to them to shield her from the horrors of the modern world. After all, she was smart enough to know they were bad, was she not?

Perhaps it was because of her childhood that she grew incapable of effective communication with her peers, being too accustomed to concise, elaborate conversations which her classmates clearly failed to provide. After all, it was hard to hold a decent conversation if you could not understand over half the words the other party was saying.

Eventually, Hermione learnt to speak in a way that was still slightly confusing, but comprehensible, yet sadly the damage was done. Her reputation as an ill-fitting prodigy who ought to simply "bugger off to wherever geniuses go" had already been firmly established in others' minds, and as everyone knows, the slate can never be completely wiped clean.

It was all right, though. Hermione had never experienced true friendship, for what kind of friends only approached her for help with homework? She had never had a true friend to lose, so she was fine with being solitary. Really.

Another rare, appreciated solace in her secluded world were her teachers. Once they got past the fact that a child so much younger than them was capable of intelligent conversation, she became a popular lunch mate for her teachers, particularly after they realized she did not have many friends in school. So the teachers became her friends, and they began to see her more as an acquaintance than a student. She never really associated with those her age anyways,

Unfortunately, being often accompanied by teachers made her a target. She became the teacher's pet, the nerd girl, the outcast. And this, ironically, pushed her closer to her teachers, causing the bullying to worsen. A vicious cycle.

Just when she had thought it was time to retaliate against her classmates, so show them she was more than that, that she could put her mind to be dangerous too, a lifeline appeared in the form of a swooping owl with a letter in its talons. A place of magic! An explanation for all the unnatural things that occurred around her! A wand! A witch! Broomsticks! Magical books! Spells! A new school! A new hope!

Or so she had thought.

Hermione was more perceptive than most people gave her credit for, She saw the looks some of the richly dressed, aristocratic people at the train platform gave her parents and her, the charged animosity between older students wearing different coloured ties, the strange isolation those students with green ties experienced, and felt a pang of sympathy for them. She knew how it felt like to be judged and thrown away like unwanted trash.

The most memorable thing she saw was the easy camaraderie those with red ties had with others, the easy amicability they established casually and effortlessly. She felt humbled, and more than a little jealous. It was later, while getting on the train that she realized the ties' colours most likely symbolized the house they had been sorted into, so to speak. Red was… Gryffindor? Known for their bravery and boldness. Well, that did not resemble Hermione in the slightest. Inwardly, she sighed, already knowing that people would immediately judge her to be a bookworm and most likely place her in Ravenclaw.

Imagine her surprise when the sorting hat sifted through all her thoughts, her knowledge, her plans, and secretly, quietly told her that although it did consider her to be very suited to Ravenclaw, he felt torn between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Slightly bemused at those two final options('Cunning and sneaky or brave and rash? Mr. Sorting Hat, you must be growing senile.' The hat snorted in amusement.), Hermione was eventually sorted into Gyffindor. Success!

Swiftly, Hermione learnt that the house of Gryffindor was not all sunshine and daisies, and quite frankly regretted not being sorted into Ravenclaw after the first few days. It became apparent that her memorization of the textbook and out-performance of her peers was not appreciated, and this time she did not even have her teachers to support her. Trying to associate with Ravenclaws was apparently against one of the unspoken rules of Hogwarts, you could chat with, befriend and even date those from other houses, but in no circumstances could you be best friends with anyone from another house, or both parties would be subjected to social disgrace. Thus, she retired early, awoke early and ate breakfast when most were still sleeping, disappeared between classes to empty classrooms in secluded places of the castle, and basically alienated herself.

Things were just the same here, Hermione mused, no better than the Muggles that Magicals seem to look down upon. Ha! And here she had thought she would have been accepted. Well, twice had she been fooled, but no more.

The paintings were kind, but even she had to admit that it was truly a deplorable position to be in when your best friend was an animated picture of a long-dead woman. At least, the woman was smart, witty and sarcastic, and sometimes she was joined by others just as fascinating as her. How Hermione wished she could have met them in real life! They were such lovely people.

Her days passed in the hazy blandness of routine until the day came. That day. The one she would never forget. In a way, she both wished that day never happened, yet was eternally grateful it came to pass. After all, it was on that day that she found her calling.

On Halloween, Hermione Granger ran, distraught, to cry in the bathroom when Ronald Weasley insulted her.

On Halloween night, a mountain troll appeared and attacked the bathroom she was in. By the time the professors came, they were too late.

One week after Halloween, Hermione Granger awoke from her coma to an apologetic Ronald Weasley, a furious pair of parents and deeply ashamed professors.

At one go, Hermione Granger lost her sight in one eye, partial use of her right hand and any good looks she might have possessed.

At one go, Hermione Granger began the path that would make her one of the most feared witches in Great Britain, and indeed, the whole world

* * *

"Ms. Granger, we are deeply and terribly ashamed of what happened. Please accept our sincere apologises and should you require anything, we would be most eager to provide it. We take the safety of our students very seriously, Ms. Granger, and this incident has brought to our attention that the safety measures at Hogwarts are sorely lacking. We are searching for the culprit as we speak, and you, as well as your parents, will be notified immediately should we find him.

"To ensure your comfort while you recover, I will personally ensure you are not harassed by more… aggressive reporters. Should you decide to leave Hogwarts, your school fees and compensation will be transferred back to you, and we will do our best to heal you as much as possible."

Albus Dumbledore was far more solemn than Hermione had ever seen him, and he seemed to radiate sincerity and sorrow. This did not endear him to Hermione, who just wanted to take whoever did this to her and make him _suffer_, not stay here like the helpless invalid she was. Embittered, Hermione looked at Dumbledore in frustration, a restless, horrible feeling constantly swirling under her skin, reminding her of what she had been through, as if the horrific scarring and the images of the troll that had burned themselves on the back of her single remaining eyelid were not enough. The phantom pain assaulted her at night and she muffled her tears into her pillow, refusing to drink the Dreamless Sleep potions, for that would mean she had truly lost.

She was as recovered as she could be now, she knew, but the feeling that Dumbledore and his professors were simply not doing enough still brought forth her rage. Stifling a growl, she instead rasped out, "We-eas-ley."

Any light Dumbledore had in his eyes instantly disappeared as the mood darkened. "Ah."

Hermione waited in silence.

"Mr. Weasley has expressed his extreme regret for his actions that day. He was, in fact, very worried about you while you were unconscious. I believe he is-"

Hermione could not take it anymore. "B-Bull-shit."

She had heard enough. Closing her eyes and ignoring Dumbledore's protests, she settled back against the pillows of the bed at the Hospital Wing and proceeded to 'fall asleep'. She had doubts about how convinced Dumbledore was, but that point, she no longer really cared. She just wanted to recover as soon as possible, gain as much power as she could, and enact her vengeance on the reason for her misery. Relying on the authorities was pointless for as far as she could see, those in power here were bigots and pathetic, and none of those actually cared about her, possibly not even Dumbledore.

How could she count on such an unreliable group?

Her resolve was formed. She would grow powerful, and she would rid the wizarding world of the rot that was killing it from the inside.

* * *

When Hermione Granger returned to Hogwarts, everyone treated her differently, which was not unexpected.

A fierce fight, the worst she had ever had with her parents, had eventually convinced her parents of her determination to return to that 'no-good, security risk, sorry excuse of a school'. Quote, unquote. Understandably, everyone had their reservations about her return, but for her, the kiddy gloves were off, so to speak. Everyone was suddenly so _nice_, so understanding, so sympathetic, as if they understood how it felt like to have half your face bashed in by a troll. Hermione could practically taste the fakeness in the air, and their agendas were so obvious-did they really think her that oblivious?

Writing with her right hand proved difficult, so she trained to be ambidextrous, and the teachers never commented on her now atrocious handwriting, a fact she was immensely grateful for. She now used a magical eye in place of her previous one, and although she would have preferred to have her normal eye back, she had to admit that having a magical eye had many perks, as she could now see through walls and apparently through invisibility cloaks, as well as having 360 degree vision. Very handy.

Professor Flitwick had charmed her a bracelet, which allowed her to call for assistance from a house elf and doubled as a glamour charm, so that her appearance would be normal and unscarred to the naked eye.

She suddenly liked Professor Flitwick a little. Well, that was more than she could say for the rest of the alumnus. Especially Ronald Weasley.

As the months passed by with a politely distanced, appropriately regretful Ronald Weasley, scattered whispers and rumours of those around her, and teachers who evidently avoided her with the exception of a few, Hermione slowly grew more angry, more depressed, more disillusioned with the world around her. As she drifted apart from the world, her perception of it twisted into something ugly, and deeply unpleasant.

Hermione Granger hated the Wizarding World.

* * *

**Please review! :D Any constructive criticism or pointing out of grammer/spelling mistakes would be appreciated! I'm planning on making this into a chaptered story unless no one likes it. XP**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I'd LOVE to own Harry Potter, if only purchasing him would not mean I would be in debt for a couple of lifetimes. XP**

Hermione Granger was a meticulous person by nature.

She knew that if she was truly to purge the Wizarding World of its filth, she would not be able to do it on her own. So, the simplest solution would be to find others of her mindset, others who could support her from behind the scenes. That would be the first step. After all, what was a leader without supporters?

Throughout the remaining days, a few people caught her eye, some who could be sympathetic to her cause, others who could be coerced or tricked into it. To say the least, they were…interesting.

The first was Neville Longbottom. It was blindingly obvious to anyone with half a brain cell (although Hermione was beginning to doubt even that existed in most of her classmates) that Longbottom was truly pathetic in practically everything, save for a prodigious touch with Herbology. An idiot savant. Although Hermione could understand if none of the others wished to associate with Longbottom, the way they treated him was beyond reproachable. He was untalented and clearly, unpopular, but surely that did not give them the right to criticize him, to mock him, to make fun of him for their own twisted, sadistic amusement then fling him away as soon as their mirth abated. Hermione watched, silently, as everyday Neville grew quieter, his self esteem plummeting, his shoulders drooping more and more as time went by, his silence speaking more than cries ever could.

Neville Longbottom had been enduring this sort of treatment his whole life.

That sort of affinity with Longbottom made Hermione approach him, not just out of pity, but also because she was certain he could be swayed to her cause, especially if she started young. Hermione wanted to cleanse the Wizarding World to help people like Longbottom, who were unappreciated and looked down upon for reasons beyond their control.

The first time Hermione spoke with Longbottom almost broke her heart.

"Neville?" Hermione bit her lip anxiously. She was not used to having to talk to others for reasons unrelated to schoolwork, and very rarely instigated a conversataion.

"Wha- what? Erm… Y-you… You're… talking… to m-me?" Longbottom was stammering, sputtering more like it, his eyes darting across the room and looking at anywhere but her face. His gaze settled at her feet, and with a red tint on his face, he waited, skittish, as if he were about to flee given half a reason, for her reply.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to study together?" Hermione deliberately made her voice soft, shy and unsecure, even as her heart pounded at how wrong the situation was. How much it defied logic that a young boy who should be mischievous and childish and spoiled, especially given the fact that he was 'pure-blooded' and most likely rich, was instead a nervous wreck, waiting for everyone to put blame on him regardless of if he deserved it or not.

"Me? You. Want to. Study. With _me_?" The sheer incredulity of his tone made her pause for a moment to ponder on just what had this boy suffered through to be this skeptical and disbelieving at his age and subsequent maturity level. However, all her conclusions about the boy were only supporting her hypothesis that the boy was starved of attention and would be exceedingly loyal to whoever showed him kindness.

"Yeah, well… If you want to, that is…" Hermione averted her eyes and shifted her foot, rubbing her arm and lowering her guarded shoulders just enough to be noticeable. She wondered if her act would work.

"Oh, yeah. Of-of course I do! But… I'll slow you down." He seemed to have noticed her suddenly uncomfortable, awkward body language. Hurrying to reassure her, he inevitably showed his lack of self-confidence by trying to convince her that he would not be the best choice in a study partner.

"Oh, I don't mind. I was hoping we could be…friends? And friends help each other, right?" Sweet, innocent schoolgirl act. Would this actually work?

Longbottom's startled, but genuinely grateful and shy small smile appeared on his face, seeming to brighten up his eyes and lighten his features, so that Hermione could see the hidden potential lurking behind the chubby features.

"I would like that, even if I'd hinder you. I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom."

Hermione smiled brilliantly at him. "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

Hidden behind her nervous façade, Hermione was grinning widely. Hook, line and sinker.

* * *

The first time Hermione noticed the second person who had caught her interest, she had been studying with Longbottom, going over the mechanics of a fairly simple charm Professor Flitwick had taught them recently, in the Gryffindor common room. The person in question had been stressed, seemingly engulfed by piles of parchment, presumably homework, as he diligently and wearily scribbled without pause.

Harry Potter. Curious.

Hermione, of course, knew of Harry Potter, and the brief interaction with him she had had on the train gave her the impression of a shy, unassuming boy, who had been surprised and even overwhelmed when she had rattled off the names of all the books he was mentioned in. It was puzzling that such a famous and well-known boy did not have a swollen head the size of Draco Malfoy's, and instead seemed to be fairly affable and soft-spoken. A person of his status ought to have been lavished with attention since birth, but he did not seem like most of the celebrities Hermione had seen, and he certainly contradicted the image the books painted of him, of an exceedingly brave, powerful and noble wizard.

He looked more like an ordinary hedgehog forced to act like a peacock. Awkward, wary of attention and occasionally plain-out deer-in-the-headlights.

For some reason, Hermione found that very endearing.

Since he had caught her interest, she asked Longbottom about Potter, and heard of the numerous rumors circulating around the school that Potter had become a seeker, the youngest seeker in a very long time, for Gryffindor house. It sort of impressed Hermione, and sort of depressed her. Perhaps he was a shallow celebrity after all, especially if he was given special treatment. Biased professors.

Still, Hermione observed quietly from the background, Longbottom faithfully at her side, as Potter struggled to complete his schoolwork and train for the Quidditch matches at the same time. Honestly, a cynical part of her thought, seeing that Harry went for Quidditch practices and his version of stealth, frankly, sucked, it was a wonder that the rumors were not confirmed yet.

It just went to show how oblivious most of Hogwarts was. If that was the future of the Wizarding World, it was a good thing Hermione would be there to guide it.

The day of the Quidditch match came amidst excited whispers, sneering and jeering between Gryffindor and Slytherin (in which Hermione was mostly ignored, thank goodness!) and the buzz of the school that only came when an important event was to take place. Personally, Hermione saw little interest in watching people on cleaning tools flying in midair passing a red lump of leather and shooting them into hoops while others waved around bats and attempted to kill the other team's players. Not to forget the poor sod who had to avoid the bludgers and catch a tiny, flying golden ball whose sole reason for existence was to infuriate the seeker.

Quidditch. Best. Sport. Ever.

Was it a sign of mental stress that those four words conjured up the image of Weasley salivating as he stupidly daydreamed about Quidditch? Hermione sniggered as she glanced at Ronald Weasley and found a carbon copy of imaginary-Ronald-Weasley. Sigh.

The introductions began, and the crowd, as one, gasped in shock and burst into harsh whispers of fervent anticipation and realization as Potter appeared in his Quidditch robes on a Nimbus 2000, looking determined and ready to vomit all at the same time.

Listening to the conversations of how 'So the rumors were true?', 'He looks so hot!' and 'I knew it! Harry Potter's actually Albus Dumbledore in disguise!', Hermione decided that she wanted to strangle every one of the speakers in that moment for surely their sheer idiocy would be contagious and ought to be eliminated before it spread. She could feel her intelligence level dropping with every word spoken by those…morons. The longer she listened, the more she wanted to cry instead. This, this, was not a crowd of sentient beings. It was a crowd of pure, unadulterated stupidity.

As the game began, all decipherable words ended, something Hermione was unconditionally grateful for. Everything was uninteresting to her, until the moment when Potter's broom began jerking, uncontrollably, erratically, like a horse gone berserk and suddenly determined to yank Potter off in the most violent way. Potter's eyes went wide as he frantically struggled to get a grip on the wayward broom, his hands clutching until his knuckles went stark white and his mouth fell agape in terror. Studying his eyes, vividly beautiful green eyes now radiating distress, Hermione concluded that Potter really was in trouble this time.

Ignoring the foolish people around her who actually thought Potter's actions were intended, Hermione narrowed her eyes and analytically studied the situation in a matter of seconds. Only magic could have done such as thing, as the broom seemed to be new and thus was not prone to malfunction, especially since Potter was so stunned by the broom's behavior that it must have been the first time such an occurrence had happened. Therefore Potter's broom must have been sabotaged, and recently, most likely during the game itself, or the curse would have activated when he began flying, or a short time afterwards, for there was no discernible reason to delay. From the meager knowledge Hermione had of Quidditch and brooms, only a high-level curse should have been capable of affecting it, and it must have been cast by someone who was older, one of the older students or the professors, then. Sharply gazing at where the professors were seated, Hermione narrowed her eyes as she spotted two blank-faced professors, both chanting under their breaths, entirely focused on their words and neither paying attention to a certain bushy-haired student.

Snape and Quirrell.

Without hesitation(how could she let another student be harmed like her in this very school?), Hermione dashed off, away from the disapproving but not entirely surprised Longbottom's gaze and toward the professors. Some clumsy spellwork (her hand was still partially paralyzed) and a quick incantation rewarded her with a spurt of blue flames, which she applied onto both guilty professors before she quickly disappeared as the first shouts arose.

Returning to her seat to a surprisingly silent Longbottom, she watched as Potter's broom regained stability and he miraculously caught the snitch. By swallowing it.

Hermione could not decide if that was madness or pure genius.

After the game, Potter came to her, uncertain but more than a little grateful as he explained that somehow, he knew that she had saved him, and if there was anything he could do for her, he would be more than happy to. When questioned further by a suspicious Hermione on how he "just knew", he responded that he had felt a nagging gut feeling that she had prevented his death and he was immensely grateful to her. Hermione waved him off, acting nonchalant even as her mind raced at a mile a minute.

When Hermione researched the "nagging feeling", she discovered something in an old book of Magical Traditions and Customs that left her reeling, both inexplicably smug and what-just-happened shocked.

Harry Potter now owed her a life debt.

* * *

The third person appeared on one of her explorations of the school, which were actually lonesome walks when Longbottom was occupied. She had, of course, seen the third person the first time she had came to the school, but never had she a chance to actually speak to him, to examine his personality,.

Rebeus Hagrid was a very open person.

Hermione would even go so far as to call him shockingly naïve. He spoke with an accent, roared cheerfully, ambled around carelessly and loved his job mercilessly. He was very dedicated to Albus Dumbledore, it seemed, and not exactly very bright either, although he was friendly and amiable to those who approached him. He seemed to be a wonderful, innocent and carefree man who had to be some sort of giant, gauging by his height and stature. He had an extensive knowledge about magical creatures, knowledge he was more than eager to share with anyone who would listen, and he had a ferocious looking dog that was a coward at heart.

And his cooking was horrible.

Hermione came to like him. His boisterous, easy-going and accepting nature already made him an angel compared to the stifling students of Hogwarts, conversation with him was always interesting and despite his duties as Gameskeeper he seemed to have a lot of free time to spare for her. He always seemed to have a new story to tell, stories that seemed more like fairy tales to Hermione, but Hagrid was so painfully honest and horrible at lying that she believed him.

It was when she was commenting on the events of Potter's narrow escaped from death that she realized that Hagrid knew more than he was letting on. At the two names of the suspects, Hagrid had looked away and swallowed once, averting his gaze. Instantly interested, she straightened up, like a dog perks up its ears when it hears something that caught its attention, as she faced Hagrid, deciding that subtlety was a lost hope when it came to Hagrid.

"Do you know why either Snape and Quirrell would want to kill Potter? I reckon that with both of their abilities, one of them could have killed him instantly, meaning that the other was trying to help Potter, seeing that Potter is still alive and breathing as far as I know."

"Rubbish! Why would they so somethin' like that?" Hagrid clearly disagreed with Hermione's conclusions, which sparked her intuition even more. Hagrid rarely full-out disagreed with her unless it concerned magical creatures. Seeing as his sudden denial and uneasy body language had been instigated at the two names, Hermione could guess that something about them worried Hagrid. That was sufficient evidence for Hermione to push further.

Think, Hermione, think, what would convince Hagrid to give a hint?

The offended, hotheaded girl? The depressed, piteous child? The innocently curious, adventurous student?

Oh well. She might as well try them all.

Raising her voice and tersing her shoulders, Hermione defiantly stared at Hagird and impatiently called his name until his gaze met hers. "Hagrid… why do I sense that you're keeping something from me? Don't you trust me?"

Hagrid froze before he began shifting in discomfort, adjusting his mug of tea between his large hands, staring into the cup as if it held the screts of the universe. "Yeh don' understand, Hermione. It ain' 'bout me not trustin' yeh. It's a matter between Harry and Snape."

Snape! So Snape was the one who Hagrid was uncomfortable about. Encouraged by what she had learnt, Hermione switched to another tactic.

"But… I promise I won't tell _anyone_, Hagrid. My curiosity is eating me alive! I can't stand not knowing!" Hagrid's mouth was closing up, his brows more furrowed. Uh oh. He was closing off. Time to change tactics again.

"I… I just felt so helpless, Hagrid! When I saw Po-Harry being dragged higher and higher and I just could not do anything and I felt simply terrible! It was like losing a friend, like I was Harry and I was being taken away and no one could save me, like with… with… the trol-"

She was cut off by Hagrid's hand patting her gently on the back, which caused her to jerk forward in her seat. Toward the end, her voice had risen dangerously, and gotten choked up, as if she was going to cry. Hermione felt slightly guilty as she took in Hagrid's sympathetic, reassuring smile and softened eyes, because she knew she was making use of Hagrid's trust in everyone and manipulating him to find out information she wanted to know, but ultimately she would have gotten her information, Hagrid would still trust her and sympathize with her, and Potter would never have to know. No one would be hurt by her actions, and she would gain what she wanted. Win-win situation.

"S'all right, Hermione. S'all right." He soothingly murmured as he handed her his handkerchief for her to sniffle into. "I'll tell yeh, but don' tell anyone, kay?"

At Hermione's expectant gaze and furious nod, Hagird cracked a small smile and began the explanation of the terrible tales of James Potter and Severus Snape.

"Now, Snape, y'see, hated James, probably jealous of James' Quidditch skills and popularity, if yeh ask me. So James hated Snape back, and what a rivalry they had, those two. James was popular, so he bullied Snape, and things jus' got worse and worse as the years passed, until they were fightin' everyday, they were.

"Then, yeh got Lily. Lily… Lily was beautiful. Is an' always will be. She was Snape's best friend until they argued over somethin', then Lily went out wit' James, and Snape… Snape has never forgiven him for takin' Lily from him. 'Specially since Lily died protectin' James' son. An' that's Harry. Yeh see?"

Her mind exploding with thoughts, with implications, with fascinating newfound connections and explanations, Hermione did not really notice Hagrid had already finished talking until he nudged her and face full of doubt now that he had finished his story, once again spoke.

"So yeh don' go tellin' nobody, all right? 'Specially not Harry."

Returning to reality with a hurried shake of the head, Hermione promised, "I won't tell anyone. Don't worry. Thanks for telling me."

Hagrid smiled again, crinkling his skin into a genuine expression of happiness as he gently shooed Hermione out, his hands brushing against her uniform. "S'getting' late, Hermione. Off you go. 'Till next time, yeah?"

Facing away from Hagrid, Hermione craned her head around to glance at Hagrid and shoot him a small smile. "Of course. Goodbye, Hagrid."

The darkening shadows layered across Hagrid's face, making him look disturbingly eerie as he waved. "See you, Hermione."

That night, as Hermione was getting ready for bed, as she undressed, a slip of paper fell out of her uniform. Surprised, Hermione unfolded the paper and calmly read the scrawled words written inside in such a messy, hurried handwriting she could only conclude Hagrid had written it.

'Hermione. I know that look in your eye. Listen to Professor Dumbledore's warning at the start of the year.' What warning?

Hermione struggled to recall the warnings Dumbledore had previously mentioned at the start-of-year feast. Ah… to stay out of the forbidden forest, to use no magic in corridors, and to avoid the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.

Time to explore then.

* * *

Interesting. That was Hermione's overall conclusion of the three males. Very, very interesting.

* * *

OMAKE

Hermione was being cornered by a thing-oh gosh why was this happening to her ? This was all Ronald Weasley's fault, he ought to be the one in this situation except this was a girl's bathroom and he was a boy and he couldn't come in and oh _what-is-that-thing_?!

Confronted with a twelve-foot, bald monster being who seemed intent on bashing her head in, Hermione did the only thing she could think of.

She screamed.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

She screamed so shrilly, so ear-splittingly loud, so horrendously piercingly that the troll could not take it. With a grunt of pain and a drop of its club, the troll collapsed to the ground, covering its ears and writhing in agony.

Hermione continued screaming shrilly until the professors (too late!) burst into the girl's bathroom and encountered one of the most bizarre scenarios they had ever seen in their teacher career.

A tiny first-year girl practically hidden behind wild brown hair, screaming her lungs out as a subdued mountain troll docilely laid at her feet, subdued.

The professors blinked.

What just happened?

Ever since, Hermione earned a reputation as the 'Girl-Who-Conquered-Trolls'.

* * *

**I GOT REVIEWS WOOHOO! I WAS SO HAPPY I STARTED DANCING AND SCREAMING AND NOW IM ON A HIGH THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE ALL OF YOU WHO FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEWED!**

**Ahem. Craziness over.**

**Hermione is starting to become OOC, I know, and the OOCness will gradually increase. Please inform me what you thought of the chapter and thank you so much if you review! Now, replies!**

To Kairan1979 :

Actually, I intended to bring in Harry this chapter, because Hermione was too distracted what with the troll incident and all to be too concerned about a random classmate, even if he is Harry Potter and Ron's BFF. XP

To Miss Vampire 16

Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed the second chapter? And I have evil, evil plans… Blame the plot bunnies. THEY WONT LEAVE ME ALONE!

To Smithback

Thank you! I wonder if they are other fics with this plot? I never checked. XD Oh well.

To Burnedx2

I will continue it, no worries~ Thanks, I'm trying to ease Hermione into the role of Dark witch. She has morals to uphold and yet she's still going to slowly, progressively become darker and darker, but she'll still be Hermione deep down inside, with a kind, forgiving heart and all that. Please comment and tell me if Hermione becomes too unnatural. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Last I checked, I'm broke. Nope, not rich, so I can't own Harry Potter.**

Never tickle a sleeping dragon.

That was the school motto of Hogwarts, and quite frankly, Hermione could appreciate the irony of having that as a school motto, especially since she was about to blatantly disregard that piece of advice.

How? By doing the very thing Hagrid had warned her against, of course. She smiled to herself. Reverse psychology, was it not? Telling a child not to do something was tantamount to placing a flashing sign with neon lights and a gigantic arrow above aforementioned deed, for that was basically what warnings did. Single out a certain action, add in the temptation of forbidden fruit and appeal to the naturally rebellious side of all children, something she was sure all parents had suffered through.

Great. Was she thinking from a parent's perspective now? She was supposed to be the kid here! Then again, seeing how short her attention span seemed to be these days, she might as well have been an average eleven-year-old.

Somehow, that thought irritated her to no end.

Three warnings had been given. Since she had already been performing magic in the corridors for a very long time now and she had not yet sprouted fangs or became an exploding monkey, she figured that the second warning was not the one Hagrid had been warning her about. Somehow, it seemed incredibly suspicious and stupid to specifically mention how a painful death awaited those venturing to the third floor corridor. Seriously, had the professors not considered the possibility of suicide cases? Then again, considering there were probably other, painless magical ways to kill oneself, perhaps they had not needed to worry about that.

Hmm. Hermione wondered if there were painless spells for quick death. She filed that thought away for later.

So, in light of how suspicious that warning was, Hermione decided to investigate it first. Which, she knew, she long-sufferingly thought, was just like going after a serial killer instead of a petty thief just because she wanted to.

What were the professors thinking, having a potentially fatal corridor in a school full of foolhardy, moronic children? That was even worse than begging for trouble. Was she not the prime example?

Which meant her actions warranted an even greater amount of caution. Perhaps to an extent that mirrored paranoia. If there was truly a risk of dying there, possibly from a curse, a fatally dangerous artefact, another troll (she really hoped not) or something like that, she needed to ensure one person that she could trust would be aware of where and what she was doing, as well as disappear from the public eye for a while so that she could have an alibi should anything come up. Preferably, this person would not have a history of lying so that professors would believe him should he have to inform the professors of her whereabouts. Also, she should have a communication link set up between them, so that she could subtly call for help, and also so the person could check up on her at agreed upon intervals, so should she not respond with their agreed password, he would know something had happened to her. Also, this person should have some sort of personal obligation to her so that she could trust him to keep his mouth shut, as well as enough common sense to not screw up somehow.

The last requirement already ruled out practically everyone. Bugger.

However, before she would even consider entering such a potentially dangerous situation, Hermione had to ensure that she had some means of defending herself. After all, despite her preventive measures, she knew that the best laid plans often go haywire in practical application. Therefore, she needed some way fo defending herself.

Defence against the Dark Arts? Not in a million years. The class was pathetic, and she would be better off learning from the textbooks than from Quirrell. His stuttering was so stupid and fake that it could not have been faked at all. No one was _that_ obvious, honestly.

Therefore, her next logical step would be to consult textbooks. Professors were a big no-no. She could just imagine that conversation ending in disaster in every way.

"_Professor McGonagall, could you teach me some defensive spells?"_

"_Why would you ever want to learn those, Ms Granger? They are too advanced for you, despite your accelerated learning ability."_

"_Well, I was thinking of going into the forbidden corridor on the third floor, you know, the one the Headmaster specifically warned us not to enter, just because Hagrid told me not to."_

"_What? Preposterous! You are not to enter the third storey corridor, am I understood, Ms Granger, and you will receive a detention and a loss of 20 house points for even considering the idea."_

It was sad that over 30 possible ways to go about it all eventually ended in the same way. Thus, professors were definitely out of the equation.

She wondered if one of the older students would be willing to tutor her, but she knew they would demand an explanation as to why she wanted to learn defensive spells, not to mention that the probability that news of those lessons would travel to the professors, who would want to know why shehad requsted those lessons in the first place.

Another dead end.

Hermione considered asking the portraits, but few of them had retained their wands and fewer still remembered spells and curses they had not used in hundreds of years.

Of all the crummy luck.

Frustrated that her musings had led to no real solution, Hermione slumped in her comfortable armchair by the fire of the Gryffindor common room, the warm, orange flames reflecting in her eyes as a glint of bright, eye-catching light. Her gaze once again wandered to the world outside the windows, the silvery moon adorning the skies and silently watching over the children of the night, her children.

"Pop!"

What? What was… that?

Hermione could barely hold in a scream when a thing suddenly appeared. She had no idea what it was, but it was moving, two enormous black eyes peering at her in seeming concern and fear. Pasty white skin was covered by toga made out of a tea towel, with the Hogwarts insignia proudly displayed on it, allowing Hermione to relax just the tiniest bit. Strange, bat-like ears protruded from both sides of the creature's head, and seemed to quiver as Hermione continued staring at it.

All of a sudden, the creature started slamming itself into a nearby wall, scaring the wits out of Hermione, who now eyed it warily.

"Tabby is a bad elf, very very bad elf! Tabby woke up the mistress, Tabby is a bad elf! Tabby deserves to be punished! Tabby is punishing herself, for Tabby is a bad elf!"

Hermione was beginning to fear for the thing's sanity and health. Surely such self-destructive tendencies ought to be remedied? Mustering up her wavering courage, she hesitantly spoke, "Please stop."

The thing was staring up at Hermione with quavering, watery eyes and a sniffling nose, almost as if astounded that Hermione would interrupt it. Disturbed, but determined to prevent it from hurting itself any longer, she continued, "You're hurting yourself, so please… please stop. It's all right, I was awake anyways."

The creature now appeared star-struck, which unsettled Hermione even more, and left her unsure, what with the creature's abrupt mood swings and ever-changing behaviour. It was gazing at her with remarkable intensity, and that left Hermione with the uncomfortable feeling of being analysed and judged without ever speaking anything of worth. Flushing slightly, she stared back, unblinkingly, unwilling to admit defeat even as her eyes began to water and the urge to blink grew and grew. She would not lose to it, she refused to!

Just before Hermione surrendered and blink, the creature gave a whoop of pure joy, confirming Hermione's suspicions of the creature being exceedingly bipolar.

"Mistress is too kind, too kind to Tabby. Mistress is great and good and worries about Tabby, but Mistress need not, for Tabby is unworthy of such greatness! Can Tabby do anything for Mistress, anything, anything?"

Sudden mood swings seemed to be the creature's forte. Migraine predicted at 6 o'clock, with a dash of thunderstorms(horrible mood) and lightning(anger issues).

"Tabby, what are you, and why are you here?"

"I is a house-elf, Mistress! Tabby is cleaning the school and cooking in the kitchens and moving the baggings!"

It probably meant bags.

"What's a house-elf?"

"A house-elf, Mistress! A house-elf is a helper of Wizards, I is helping the Headmaster and Professors and Students and Mistress! I is helping for many many years now! Tabby is cleaning the common rooms!"

Okay… the magical version of a domestic helper then. Still, house-elf… Hermione was certain she had heard of that name before, but where had she heard it?

Hermione stared at her hands in frustration, until she caught sight of the charm bracelet on her wrist and realisation struck her. The charm bracelet! One of its uses was summoning a house-elf to assist her, something she had been curious about but too proud to try out. So this was a house-elf?

"What about this bracelet, Tabby? Can it call you here?"

Tabby positively beamed at Hermione.

"Of course, Mistress. Mistress needs only to tap her wand on the bracelet twice and a house-elf will appear! Shall Tabby show Mistress?"

At Hermione's nod, Tabby disappeared again, until Hermione tapped her charm bracelet with her wand again, and with another soft noise, Tabby reappeared.

"Mistress may think the name of the house-elf she is wanting to appear, and the house-elf will appear!"

Hermione's thought processes stopped for a second, as the information registered in her brain. "Wait," she slowly enunciated, "you mean to say there are more of you? How many?"

"Thousands, Mistress, perhaps a hundred in Hogwarts alone!"

"What?" _Oh, you have got to be kidding me_!

"Is something wrong, Mistress?" Tabby sounded worried.

Shaking her head and making a note to think further on that later (she felt mildly disgusted that Tabby seemed to have such terrible self-preservation skills, although since this was the Wizarding World, she supposed she should not be so surprised.), Hermione ventured on to the next question that had been plaguing her mind.

"How did you disappear and reappear? Teleportation? Is it specific to house-elves?"

"It is Apparition, Mistress. Mistress can do it too, but Mistress needs to be trained by others first. I is a house-elf, I can apparate in Hogwarts, but Mistress cannot, no, no she cannot! Not in Hogwarts!"

"So I can, if I'm trained, but I can't in Hogwarts? Why ever not?" Hermione was confused and more than a little irritated.

"The wards, Mistress! The wards do not allow the masters and mistresses to apparate!"

Oh, that made sense. Hermione had read somewhere that the wards of Hogwarts were extensive and varied. It would not be surprising that such a convenient means of entering and leaving had been inhibited, or surely unwanted visitors would be in and out like a breeze. Unfortunately, this probably did not prevent unwanted house-elves from entering.

Did it?

"Ah. I see. Defences. Are there other spells which defend set up around the school?"

"Of course!" Tabby proceeded to enthusiastically blurt out a very long explanation of the defences of Hogwarts, with strange words or outright bizarre things being mentioned every other sentence. Needless to say, Hermione had no idea what was being said, but she still listened intently and carefully filed away any important information she could grasp out of the jumbled mass of words.

With Tabby being so forthcoming about the defences of Hogwarts, Hermione was tempted to simply ask what was in the third floor corridor, but decided against it. Who knew what would happen then, or if Tabby would go running to her beloved Headmaster.

Instead, Hermione decided to ask something less suspicious and equally useful.

"Tabby, do you know of anywhere that I could practice my spells in peace, without being interrupted? A private library or something like that?"

Hermione doubted such a place existed, but it could not hurt to try…

"The Come and Go Room, Mistress!" Tabby cheerfully exclaimed, without missing a beat. This assured reply startled Hermione, and perking up, she leant forward toward Tabby and nodded once, waiting for more information. The spark of hope erupted into a small flame of excitement as she eagerly considered the possibilities that having such a place opened up to her. She could train in secret, keep up a naïve clueless façade, learn things no one else her age had learnt of, and improve herself so she would be that much closer to her goal of improving the Wizarding World.

"The Come and Go Room can be anything! It can be a bathroom, a library, a training room, a Quidditch field, a library, a meeting room, a dormitory! You is only needing to need it, and the Come and Go Room will give it if it can!"

With every word, Hermione was beginning to get more and more excited. This room seemed like the stuff of dreams, the magical paradise where all could be given. However, it seemed a little too good to be true.

"Is there a catch? Do I have to sing to it or something?"

"No, Mistress, but the Come and Go Room gives no food, Mistress is needing to go to the kitchens instead for food."

The kitchens? The kitchens were run by the house-elves, according to what Tabby had said earlier, an if that was so, then Hermione did not foresee a problem with going there to eat her meals if it meant a respite from her year mates, particularly if all house-elves were as friendly as Tabby. Tabby eagerly informed Hermione of how to get to both the kitchens and the Come and Go Room, where as Hermione, in turn, promised to visit Tabby down in the kitchens, leading to a fit of joyful tears and resounding chants of "Mistress is too good to Tabby!" causing Hermione to nervously glance at the dormitories for fear that someone would have heard Tabby and came down to investigate.

With a few more brief words, Hermione and Tabby parted ways, Hermione to go to bed to process all the information she had learnt, and Tabby to continue cleaning.

* * *

The next chance she got, Hermione traversed to the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy on the left side of the seventh floor corridor. Turning around and following Tabby's instructions, she thought of "Let me have somewhere to improve my skills without being discovered, let me have somewhere to improve my skills without being discovered, let me have somewhere to improve my skills without being discovered."

With a fluttering heart and a hopeful sigh, Hermione opened her eyes. She was not expecting too much, was she?

And whooped, ecstatic.

There was a set of beautiful mahogany double doors there, gorgeously engraved with a complicated, spiralling and twistingly elegant pattern. Some of the markings went deeper than the others, and thus it appeared that the engravings were protruding outwards in some places, providing it with a 3D effect.

Without thinking about it, Hermione dashed into the room, and wide-eyed in wonder, spun around, taking in every detail of the room.

Absolutely beautiful. Beyond beautiful.

In a corner of the room, a small table with cosy warm lights illuminating it was situated in the midst of a fluffy, comfortable looking carpet, with a sturdy but cushioned chair next to it. Hermione assumed this was for studying, judging by the quills and pots of ink and parchment provided. One side of the room was completely dominated by bookshelves. Row upon row upon row of books of all kinds, along with the comfortable armchair Hermione enjoyed reading in most. She was practically salivating already just at the sight of it. Oh, all the things she could learn in there!

Another side of the room seemed to be taken up almost entirely by weapons. Muggle, magical, modern, medieval. All of them were training weapons, not as lethal as actual ones, but still dangerous enough to suit her purposes. They were all labelled with their names and origins and Hermione would bet that books on how to wield them all would be in the bookshelves. It was like a fantasy for Hermione.

Glancing around until her eyes came to rest on the bookshelves, Hermione smiled angelically.

She could get used to this room.

* * *

Hours later, Hermione strolled out of the Come and Go Room, the most detailed book with powerful but relatively easy to understand spells tucked securely under her arm, the book cover exchanged with another one, when in reality, it read 'Beginner's Guide to Darke Magicks'.

* * *

**Hey guys! I'm sorry this is so short, I'm rush writing it, so sorry. :(**

**I'm going to holiday~~ today, so unfortunately I won't have internet access in Japan. So, if I manage to suddenly get wifi, you might get an update, but other than that I won't be able to post a chapter till the New Year. I hope you won't give up on my story, pleaseeeeeeeeee?**

**Ahem, I'm actually thinking of Draco/Hermione and Neville/Luna. Muahaha any guesses as to how the first pairing arises? Hint: Think like an evil, evil Hermione. Any suggestions for the others?**

**The situation with Harry's life debt is going to be developed in another arc, but it will be manipulated by Hermione, because she's just like that.**

**And Draco is not coming into the 'dating scene' picture till later. Way, way later. But I'll be bringing him in soon, if only to write Draco vs. Hermione rivalry. And it is not going to be 'Hermione wins all the time because she is the main character' and stuff. That would not be as interesting. (evil smile)**

**Sorry for the OC Tabby, but it was necessary and Tabby is not going to be uber powerful or something. Just a random house-elf. Any opinions about Tabby?**

**Please review! I would love to hear your comments, even if it's just flaming (as long as the flames actually make sense).**

**Thanks to all readers of this! I 3 you all~~**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The copyright wasn't available on the internet, sadly. :(**

* * *

_Beginner's Guide to Darke Magicks_

_Often, one thinks of darke magick as that of terrible curses and spectacular, conspicuous spells, yet oftentimes it is the subtle magicks that go unseen that deal the most damage in the end._

_For now I shall tell of the secretive arts of potions and its uses, whether the article in question be poison, healing drafts, bewitchment draughts or otherwise._

_Poisons and Potions_

_Poisons are one of the most undetectable ways to inflict harm upon another unnoticeably. Evidently, this makes it a very popular choice among assassinations and silent deaths. Poisons can be used in various ways, depending on the properties of the poison in question as well as the creativity of the user. _

_I.I_

_The Inclint_

_One such poison would be the Inclint, which influences the victim's thoughts such that they will be likely to perform whatever action the user sees fit. However, this can easily backfire if the victim has a strong will, allowing them to realise their own unusual behaviour, or if the victim has others who are familiar with him and will thus identify any uncharacteristic mannerisms._

_The Incliner seeks to counter this by using the venomous properties of its ingredients, as well as the suppressants directly linked to the user's mind. The mind of the user may deactivate the suppressants at any given time, allowing them to cause agony and drastic health decline to the victim, which incites fear of their own safety, resulting in compliance from the strong-willed individual, who then sacrifices his memories of the painful event, leaving behind an irrational fear of disobeying his odd inclinations._

_It has been noted that various users add in additional poisons or addictive substances to the Inclint, which adds to their efficiency, as the user grows reliant on the poison, and usually in such cases, eventually withers away when their usefulness has been exhausted. Addicts of the potion often grow less and less like their usual persona, so although adding addictive substances increases the effectiveness of the potion, it also increases risk of the victim's poisoning to be discovered. If other poisons are added into the Inclint, the Inclint's highly reactive ingredients often interact with the new poison to warp the new poison so it is unidentifiable, with debatable effects._

_Some Potion Masters argue that the Inclint is a bewitchment potion, others that it is a poison. Factors both agree and disagree with both arguments, in such that the Inclint manipulates the mind and uses both subtle and forceful Magick to steer the victim into doing as the user wants. However, the Inclint uses lethal, slow-acting ingredients as its primary base, thus indicating that it is a poison, according to the widely accepted definition of a poison, which is 'A substance which when ingested, contacted, inhaled or affected the body, causes physical harm of any kind to the victim'._

_The Inclint is useless if used by someone with a weak will, an unwillingness to use it, or a fear of its capabilities. Should one with any of those qualities attempt to use the Inclint, the potion will backfire upon the user, which makes the Inclint extremely dangerous to both user and victim, and this is also the reason the Inclint is often unpopular among Dark Magicals, despite its appealing properties, which include being undetectable by most means and incurable without the user's permission._

* * *

Hermione was hooked onto the book by the first few pages.

The very idea of Dark Magic scared her, but if it was one thing her parents had managed to successfully incorporate into her, it was a sense of objectivity. Logically, she realised that magic was simply magic and to think about whether it was classified as 'Light' or 'Dark' had no actual bearing on the spell, as it depended on the context in which the spell had been performed.

For example, if the Inclint potion had been used on a hardened terrorist to force him to become a productive, hardworking member of society, would one really consider that a truly evil deed? Or did the ends justify the means, particularly if the antidote was given upon confirmation of the terrorist's repentance? Where did the boundaries blur, when did one stop before they went too far?

Hermione was getting entirely too philosophical nowadays. There were so many instances she could see, so many grey areas in between the narrow-minded, stereotypical judgements that had been made on the multitude of spells available to the general public of the Wizarding World, spells that could be immeasurably useful if used in the right way and not abused. Yet, because of the actions of a few, the government of the Wizarding World had condemned and hidden away all evidences of the existence of those spells, spells that could improve the world so, if used in a way that did not abuse them.

Hermione longed for someone else who could look at the world around her and see the truth she had seen- it was a rotting, festering sore, decaying and dying yet corrupting unblemished innocence as it dried up and ended its miserable existence.

Growling in distress at the dark turn her thoughts had taken, Hermione slammed shut the thick tome and hid it inside her mattress, by slicing open the mattress and slotting the book inside, while ensuring that no obvious bulge had been made, before repairing the fabric with a wave of her wand and a soft smattering of words. Afterwards, she placed a book with a similar cover underneath her mattress, disguising it with a simple and easy-to-uncover concealment charm.

Calming down and quietly padding her way to the girl's bathroom, Hermione followed her usual morning routine until she was presentable and casually strode to where Longbottom was waiting for her, ignoring the whispers and scatterings of students around her, who were still going on about the troll incident, for Merlin's sake. Why was she subjected to such idiocy?

Longbottom was, as usual, shifting about restlessly and avoiding all eye contact with others around him, twitchy and jumpy as a hyperactive four-year-old. Hermione repressed an exasperated sigh. One of these days, she would train the skittishness out of him, or die trying. Sometimes she wondered what exactly caused him to be such a timid, oh-look-it's-a-butterfly-I'm-terrified weakling, but then she realised he probably had an upbringing overflowing with insults and traumatising scars to his confidence, so what could she do but try to coax him out of his shell and possibly aim to cause suffering to whoever had done this to him?

She really should start learning about the childhoods of her subordinates.

"Neville? I'm sorry, have kept you waiting long?" Something about being in the presence of Longbottom caused her to soften her voice and sweeten her tone, and although she liked to think that it was because of her superior acting skills, she was beginning to suspect Longbottom had a way of growing on people after a period of time. Was it the shyness? Was it the sincerity? Was it the blatant and honest loyalty and devotion that he displayed with his every action? Hermione knew not, but she found herself developing fondness for the idiotic boy, with his awkward mannerisms and eager-to-please tendencies, reminding her of…

Herself.

A long, long time ago, Hermione was a victim of others around her, of others incapable of accepting her, but no longer, so how could she sit back and see it happen to others? Maybe. Maybe, one day, Longbottom could be just Neville, and Neville could be a friend and not an ally.

"-mione? Hermione? Hello? Can you hear me?" Longbottom's voice was tensed and worried, and his common brown eyes were alight with a shine of fear and uncertainty, almost as if he was witnessing something terrible and was powerless to stop it. Snapping out of her stupor and realising that she had been ignoring Longbottom in favour of her thoughts for quite some time now. Hermione apologetically scratched the back of her head, and sheepishly said, "Oops, sorry, Neville. Got caught up in my thoughts."

"It's fine. If I may, what were you thinking about?" Longbottom was glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, his concern apparent behind the veil of politeness. Slightly startled by this occurrence, Hermione almost blurted out "You." but managed to divert it.

"Y-your hair. It's…erm…really nice. How did you get it to be that way?"

_Great excuse, Hermione. Hair. Sure, he'll believe that._ She mentally chastised her poor diversion tactics.

Dumbfounded but unexplainably pleased, Longbottom flushed a pinkish red and immediately turned away from Hermione, not doubting her words for a second, something Hermione took a second to internally raise her eyebrows at, his eyes homing in on the ground in front of him as he stuttered out, "T-thanks, Hermione. I… wash it? Everyday."

It seemed that compliments flustered the poor boy immensely. How cute. Cute seemed to be the best word to describe Longbottom. Ugly but adorable. Except… not so adorable.

Amidst awkward silence, Hermione and Longbottom made their way to the Dining Hall, being greeted with the sight of an almost empty room already laden with plates and plates of more food than either of them knew what to do with.

"Well… let's eat." And sitting next to each other, the two of them ate breakfast and made small talk, the previous conversation still lingering on their minds.

_Longbottom, cute, hmm… Why not?_

* * *

_Poisons and Potions_

_ .II_

_Immobia Potion _

_The Immobia Potion is one of the least recorded potions in existence, mostly because a simple Body-Bind curse can achieve a similar effect with less effort. However, one of the perks of using the Immobia Potion is that it requires either the antidote of the potion, which is virtually non-existent due to its obscure nature, or at least one month before it wears off on its own, as compared to the simple counter-jinx required to lift the Body-Bind curse. Therefore, it is likely that only the user of the Immobia potion will be able to cure the victim in a short period of time. _

_Originally designed to render dangerous criminals helpless for torture used in questioning, this potion has a dark history of use primarily by those regarded as 'evil', 'cruel' and 'heartless'. Therefore, it is boycotted by a majority of wizards, although in ancient days, squibs used them to perform their own variation of 'magic'._

_For a potion with such an undesirable past, the Immobia is relatively harmless with little to none known side-effects and ingredients that are fairly common. However the antidote is far more difficult to brew and so the Immobia has been banned in most civilised Wizarding cultures for fear that the effects are irreversible should the brewer brew the antidote incorrectly._

* * *

There was something about this potion that had Hermione reeling to memorise the ingredients and procedures to brew it. Perhaps it was her intuition flashing gigantic, bright lights at her, screeching about the possible significance of this potion, significance that Hermione found impossible to ignore.

She had an idea. And it was a good one.

The Immobia was obscure and thus few would even know about it, much less would they think that a Muggleborn would have such a thing as her arsenal. So even if someone was found poisoned by the Immobia, they would never suspect sweet, innocent and harmless little Hermione Granger as the culprit, now would they? And even if they did, how could have little Hermione Granger. Additionally, the very fact that squibs used to use it meant that no magic was needed to activate the potion, which meant Hermione could use it during the summer without fear of the Ministry knocking on her door.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more perfect it sounded. Undetectable and untraceable stunning of your opponent.

The problem was, how could she use it in a fight? Ask the mountain troll if it wanted a cup of (poisoned)tea, perhaps? No, she had to find some way to attack her opponent. Spraying it at the opponent in gaseous form was tempting, but it was imprecise as she could accidentally affect others and herself to boot, so if she was in an enclosed environment with plenty of innocent witnesses and one target and herself, the gaseous form would affect all of them, in which the innocent witnesses would see her consuming the antidote, and she would ultimately be implicated. Ineffective.

Injecting them with a syringe? That required close contact, which, as proven with the case of the mountain troll, was fatal. As soon as she was in range to inject it, smash…bash… It was nice knowing you, Hermione.

A gun, then? But was that not extremely conspicuous, considering she only had full use of one of her hands, and she was probably a bad shot to boot? She could picture herself shooting randomly and hitting everywhere but the intended target. That would be deeply embarrassing and was highly probable.

For Merlin's sake, she was a witch! Was there not some magical way out of this problem? Magicals seemed to have a magical shortcut out of any and everything, from boiling water all the way to surviving being burnt alive. Something as simple as poisoning someone had to have a magical way to do it, or Hermione would wrench out her hair in frustration. Who could enlighten her? Who could she ask? Who would help her?

A sudden burst of inspiration. It was so simple.

The Come and Go Room.

* * *

_I need something that allows me to use the Immobia effectively. I need something that will allow me to use the Immobia effectively. I need something that will allow me to use the Immobia effectively. _

Hermione opened her eyes.

A small door was present, but this time she disregarded the decorations and burst straight in, only to find a various targets shaped like a troll, a human, an animal, an elf and various others she did not recognise, In the centre of it all, a small coffee table and a pillow were set up. On the table was a book flipped open and bizarrely, a series of needles.

Cautiously, Hermione approached the table and hesitantly glanced at the book, bemused at the needles. The book detailed a charm that allowed the charmed object to fly toward a predetermined place on its own accord, with the place being kept in mind by the user of the spell. It was a sort of reverse summoning charm, something she would learn in her fourth year, but she was certain she could accomplish it.

Charm. Needles. Potion. It all clicked.

The charm allowed the needles, already coated with the Immobia, to shoot toward wherever Hermione wanted, so the needle would hit the target, puncture the skin and inject the Immobia. Simple and elegant. No big bang, no fuss, just shoot, hit and down they go.

Flipping up the book and hastily flipping through it, she clumsily practised the wand movements of the spell and muttered the incantation a couple of times under her breath. Furrowing her eyebrows at the complicated movements (how many swishes and flicks were needed for just one spell?), she took out a single needle and carefully placed it on the table, away from the others. Taking a deep breath and narrowing her eyes in concentration, she murmured the spell and performed the wand movements needed.

No observable change. Great.

"Hurry up and move already!" Disappointment surged through Hermione as her fantasies of striking down evil masked men with a simple thought were dissolved into nothing more than that-childish dreams. Clenching her teeth and glaring fiercely at the motionless needle, she pointed to the human target's head hotly and ordered the needle to move, dammit!

Unexpectedly, the needle hurtled forward like a speeding bullet and deeply imbedded itself into the target board, shocking and scaring the wits out of Hermione, who yelped at the sudden movement and took a step back, now eying the needle with unveiled apprehension.

She keenly observed the target, where the needle had hit the foot area of the target, and shook her head. "No, the foot would be covered by shoes and it would leave behind a hole in the material as evidence. Too obvious."

A small sense of accomplishment enveloped her when her spell worked when she performed it again, causing another needle from the bundle to hurtle toward the target, this time aimed at a specific spot-the thigh. The needle hit the dead centre of the thigh area of the target. "Back," was whispered and the shiny implement zoomed back snugly into her palm. Hermione stared at it with a sense of wonder, her rational consideration of the possibilities momentarily paused by the sheer magnitude of what she had done. Her first step, toward her ultimate goal- to better this world for every one of the good people being unappreciated in it, had passed and somehow her dream of a beautiful, perfect world seemed just a tiny step closer. Maybe, she could do it?

Her natural inquisitiveness was overpowering her again, and before Hermione knew it, she was laughing and charming the needle repeatedly every time the charm wore off, making it shoot at every target in her immediate range of sight, and laughing joyously and deliriously whenever it hit its target. She could make two needles fly at the same time, make it cartwheel as it went, make it go fast, or slow, or in a straight line, or a jagged line, and oh this was so much fun!

She cast the charm again, and deigned it to fly to the target on her right, which although could be seen from the corner of her eye, was still an unknown shape to her. The needle took the plunge bravely, valiantly, she thought with a hysterical giggle, as needles surrounded her and danced around her until the short-lived charm wore off and they clattered to the ground like falling rain in tinkling clinks of metal hitting wood.

She felt alive. Free.

And so Hermione continued practising until the night had come and her good hand was sore from overuse and her disabled arm was capable of performing the charm, albeit very clumsily. Yet, it mattered not, for Hermione had had fun that day, something rare and precious and fit to be treasured.

She rarely had fun, ever. She should do it more often.

* * *

"Christmas is coming, Hermione."

Hermione blinked. Really? Her attention span was shorter than usual nowadays, something she blamed on idiot classmates, stupidly cryptic warnings and magical flying needles. Longbottom and her were heading down to the kitchens for breakfast when Longbottom had suddenly said that, for no discernible reason.

"Are you going back for the holidays? I've heard that Christmas in Hogwarts is amazing. Giant Christmas trees and an absolutely, excuse the pun, magical feast."

"Right, but you hadn't seemed to notice… Do you like Christmas?"

Hermione was taken aback by that question, and the glimmer in Longbottom's eyes as he regarded her after that question. Hermione hesitated before she decided the truth would not hurt her.

"I-I don't. Not really. My parents always got me books and that always makes me happy but they give me books all the time, Christmas time is not exceptional to me, it's just another day, but people get so hyped up about it, which makes me feel even more abnormal." Hermione sighed, and covered her face with one hand, resting her other hand across her stomach as the memories of Christmas assaulted her again.

Unexpectedly, a soft, amused and sheepish laugh came from her companion, and she looked up to see Longbottom smiling at her as he scratched the top of his head and replied, "Well, to tell you the truth, I don't really like Christmas either."

Reaching the kitchens and tickling the pear on the painting, Hermione distractedly asked, "Why? You're from a Noble and Ancient family, I'm sure your celebrations are awe-inspiring and you get great presents from your parents."

Ignoring the elves tottering forward in droves and thanking the one that conjured them a chair and table, Longbottom's face seemed to darken and he lowered his eyes and sighed tiredly. Realising she had mentioned a touchy subject, Hermione tactfully looked away and instead requested some breakfast, politely, from a house-elf.

As the house-elf hurried away Hermione returned her attention to the mostly-recovered Longbottom, who seemed to be turning the question over in his head and evaluating the answer, something Hermione could see and appreciate. She would prefer a decent reply, although she was a little displeased by the return of stutters in his answer, regardless of how understandable it was.

"My G-Gran a-a-always sai-said that Ch-Christmas was sp-special. And," here he took a deep breath and seemed to be steeling his nerves, "we'd always g-go v-vi-visit my p-parents." His voice was low, hushed, hinting at a dark, twisted little secret.

"Oh." Hermione was almost exploding into little Hermione-bits with curiosity, but she could sense that she was already toeing the line and any more prodding would send Longbottom scrambling away. She had a vague idea of what Longbottom was implying, but despite her curiosity, she was unsure if she truly wanted to know what he was talking about, with the way he talked about it.

As tea, toast and seven different types of jams were presented to them by very enthusiastic house-elves, Hermione sneaked a glance at Longbottom.

Perhaps they were not as different as she had thought.

* * *

During the Christmas holidays, Hermione had smuggled back rarer ingredients from the potions cabinet, simply by taking an extra pinch of beetles here and there, or a little more Draken's spit than necessary, every lesson. There was always a restocked supply in the cabinet, so she never really felt too bad about taking the ingredients, besides, the amount she saved from Longbottom's routine destruction greatly dwarfed the amount she took, something that she knew Snape was internally somewhat grateful for.

A tiny, teensy little bit.

…

Who was she kidding, he was just annoyed at everything Neville did. A tutu-wearing troll could have tap-danced in his classroom and he would still dislike Longbottom more than the troll.

Two owls found their way to her on Christmas eve, one a ruffled barn owl, bearing Hagrid's cheery Christmas greetings and a crudely fashioned but precious wooden whistle, one a black spectacled owl. The spectacled owl had delivered her a handwritten letter, a singing Christmas card and a snow globe inside, one that was something like a special, traditional clock, apparently, and would emit a soft glow according to the situation Hermione was in, with the description of the situation written on the platform. Now, it was glowing a lime green, with the words "ON VACATION" on it. Smiling, Hermione picked it up and shook it, watching as the white flakes scattered and danced to an unheard tune, the snowman inside tipping its tiny hat at her. She waved back at it and giggled as it responded so happily its hat almost fell off.

Now, with the Immobia bubbling away in a cauldron safely hidden out of sight, and a pouch with an undetectable extension charm on it, filled with needles, Hermione was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts.

Things were looking up.

* * *

**I'm actually alive! WOOHOO~~**

**I'm sorry, again, for the hiatus, but I'm back and not abandoning this story, so I hope I haven't lost many readers! Thanks to everyone who faved, alerted or reviewed the latest chapter previously, and please please please review this one?**

**Sorry for any obvious errors on this one but it's like 2am and I'm beat.**

**In the next chapter I'm finally going into the Fluffy encounter, along with more interaction with Neville, and maybe some revenge going on later. Muahaha.**

**Pairings are not confirmed yet and any romance is a long time away, but I'd still like to hear recommendations and stuff. I'm thinking of setting up a poll… as soon as I learn how to do it. I'm hopeless with technology…**

**THANKS SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! : **pixiedustchoco Rawan Smithback Kairan1979 Z


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Me owning Harry Potter=FICTION**

* * *

The corridor was ominous.

Of course, you had to take into account the flickering candlelight from sickly off-white wax candles, contained within the brass holders attached high up on the walls at uneven intervals. Then you had to consider the dingy walls themselves, covered with the miniscule cobwebs and dust that Filch had missed, with snoring paintings adding various noises to the background, whether it be soft, gentle breathing, screeching snores, an annoying ticking noise or a rubber duck that kept on quacking for no particular reason. Then you added in the various painted weapons of mass destruction, the various suits of armour with random parts missing, a small little girl standing in the midst of it all and you had the perfect cliché horror movie scene! Fantastic.

The dingy walls were not as pathetic as they appeared after all, for they had been magically reinforced to ensure that even Hermione's magical eye could not see past them. Apparently, the professors were not as idiotic as she had assumed, which was such as shame, for it would have saved her so much trouble to just see what was behind that door. Frustration and logic argued over whether she should just blast the door open, but she feared unnecessary violence would alert her dear, esteemed Headmaster of her intentions.

* * *

Dumbledore sneezed violently on his ten foot tall stack of parchment, before waving his wand to stabilise the teetering stack. Sighing heavily at his most despicable enemy, he adjusted half-moon spectacles, popped a lemon drop into his mouth and levitated another thick stack of parchment down to his desk.

He had the feeling that parchment work and not Lord Voldemort would be the one to kill him in the end. Closing his eyes to steel his nerves once more he opened them and then blinked again in puzzlement. Had that stack just grown by three feet?

He swore it was sniggering at him.

* * *

Hermione was dumbfounded.

She retracted her previous statement that her professors were not as idiotic as previously assumed. This…unexpected occurrence had proven otherwise.

The simplest unlocking spell possible had unlocked the door. Successfully. Without any alarm going off. A spell that could be performed by a first year managed to open a door with so many other protective wards on it that her magical eye started to tear just looking at it. Makes sense.

The possibility of a silent alarm flashed through Hermione's mind and quickly, she cast a disillusionment spell on herself and hid in a dark corner, waiting with trepidation, for the slightest whisper of breath, the tiniest patter of footsteps. Nothing. The silence stretched longer and longer until a scratching noise from behind the door jolted Hermione upright as blood drained from her face. Still, when no visible change occurred Hermione was left edgy and unsatisfied, as if the lack of a spectacular reaction had left her disappointed. Still, the growing pool of tension in her gut warred with her courage as she lightly trod over to the door and in a reckless bout of foolishness, grasped the handle and wrenched open the door.

Incredulous. Disbelief. Agnosticism. Any one of those words could have described Hermione in that moment. But the best description?

What the hell?

There was a gigantic snarling, drooling, growling three-headed dog in front of her. And it did not look happy to have its nap interrupted, if the fierce glare directed at Hermione was any indication. The centre head sniffed the air delicately before lowering its gaze to stare hungrily at Hermione and lick its lips in anticipation, a large dollop of saliva dripping onto the ground and creating a puddle. The one on the right looked almost bored of the whole scenario, and it glanced away from Hermione in disinterest, preferring to scratch at a wall. The head on the left was baring its teeth menacingly and eying Hermione with such suspicion that she wanted to back out and leave, now.

A sudden, unprecedented bark from the head on the left startled Hermione into taking a nervous step backwards, inexplicably tripping over a loose stone and causing her to collapse onto the stone floor, the thumping noise caused by the impact resonating eerily through the dungeon-like room, an echoing sound that made Hermione wince in terror, for with every echo the creature's eyes narrowed further.

A dull throb was the least of her worries as the dog, attention now fully on her, advanced slowly, deliberately, every step seemingly measured and calculated, as it neared her. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard in her ears that she hoped that someone could hear it and come to her rescue for surely _someone would noticeherheartwasbeatingsolo ud—_

Hermione screamed.

"HERMIONE—WATCH OUT!"

A thumping sound, a grunt of pain, the impact of a body meeting the floor, a whimper… The sounds filtered through Hermione's ears and swirled there repeatedly, but they did not register in her mind, and all she saw was the back of her eyelids, all she could feel was adrenaline and terror coursing through her veins and changing into a heady mixture of excitement and fear, the slick droplets of perspiration trailing teasingly slow down her forehead, the desperate inhalation of oxygen and the chilly feel of the room. None of it was important anymore, for suddenly Hermione's mind was clear and the fear became clarity and a pin-sharp awareness of every detail around her, and the muddled incomprehension became a whirring pace of thoughts connecting links and making plans.

Fact: Longbottom was lying in front of her, clutching his right arm and front torso with his left hand, moaning in agony but still desolately and futilely attempting to protect Hermione.

Fact: The Cerberus in front of them had just swiped at Hermione, but it had been intercepted by Longbottom, and was now sniffing the air again, as if the smell could tell it all it wanted to know, more apprehensive now that another person had joined the party.

Fact: The trapdoor below was probably what the Cerberus was guarding. What was being guarded and why it was being guarded still remained unknown.

Fact: Longbottom had now fainted and with the apparent elimination of the strange new boy, the Cerberus had regained its confidence amd was gearing up for another attack.

Fact; Hermione was pissed. And a pissed Hermione was not a good thing.

"Movara!" She shouted, practice and muscle memory easily guiding her hand through the wand movements as her other impaired hand brought out a needle coated with Immobia. Immediately, the needle sprang forward with a vengeance, Hermione swiftly charming another to follow the first needle until five needles had pricked the unfortunate Cerberus. Within a matter of moments, all three heads had sagged down as the Cerberus struggled to stay upright, a low keening forcing out of its throat before it thudded to the ground on its side, legs still fidgeting helplessly until all movement ceased.

Hermione gasped for breath eagerly, her vision swimming and head throbbing from the tremendous events that had happened in just a few minutes. Dropping to her knees and letting go of her wand, she clutched trembling hands onto a lowered head as she closed her eyes and regulated her breathing to get herself into control, but the shivering persisted despite her best efforts.

_Okay, Hermione. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. What just happened?_

In less than five minutes, she had opened the forbidden door, saw a Cerberus, fell flat on the floor and went into a daze, been saved by Longbottom who had appeared out of nowhere, saw Longbottom faint, went psycho, attacked the Cerberus wither emergency weapon and subdued a huge mythical creature.

Wait… LONGBOTTOM!

Hermione staggered up and rushed, terrified, to Longbottom's side, her eyes wide, fearful and for once not the least bit dishonest. She grasped Longbottom's shoulders urgently and shook him violently, desperately repeating his name as if that would awaken him, as if being genuinely afraid for him now would save him.

He remained unconscious.

Hermione panicked, tears of anxiety and terror and stress and fear pouring out her emotions for all to see as she folded in on herself, scrunching into a small ball and regretting ever associating with Longbottom, for what good had that done? Hermione Granger was not meant to have friends, true or fake, and even her miserable pretence of one had been taken from her, for she was fated to be alone for the rest of her life. Why did life punish her so?

As the churning maelstrom of emotions died away, apathy and logical reasoning returned to her, and with deadened eyes and a hardened mind, she turned to Longbottom-no, surely he deserved to be Neville now-over and lifted his robes to check for injuries. Neville had a large bruise running down one side of his body and extending to his arm, but otherwise seemed fine, although the bruising was severe. Heaving a sigh of relief, she carefully covered him back up and instead hatefully focused on the Cerberus, carefully picking up her wand and summoning back the five needles.

"I don't know what you're guarding or why it's so important. But remember this, you should not have hurt my Neville. Ever."

The Cerberus seemed to be silently beseeching her for mercy now, but the cold vengeful fury that filled up the emptiness inside was too vindictive not to be acted upon. Shaking her hair out and tilting her head to the side innocently, she contemplated a suitable spell to use. Darke magicks would draw out the suffering, but were easily detectable for her imprecise casting and very unoriginal, so why not go with something not considered 'dark'? With a gleeful, maniacal smile and an elegant twirl and swish of her wand, Hermione sang, "Bombarda maxima~~"

The beautiful sound of an explosion and the high-pitched whines emanating from the Cerberus were music to her ears, although with her revenge now done and the loud sounds surely attracting attention, Hermione spun around and hurriedly supported Neville the best she could, and awkwardly, the two of them stumbled away from the scene like criminals fleeing a murder scene.

Heading to the Gryffindor common room, where she hid Neville's unconscious form nearby, she managed to get into the common room where she, as per usual, went unnoticed. Returning from her room to Neville's side with a container of icky green balm in her pocket, she sneaked Neville to the Come and Go Room and ignored the buzzing of her housemates, who were frantically discussing the explosion they had just heard.

In there, she laid Neville on the bed provided and covered him in the healing balm the best she could. Fifteen minutes later, an announcement resounded throughout the entire school.

"There has been an attack. All students are to return to their dormitories immediately and await your Heads of House to address you." The message repeated thrice, and by the end of the announcement, tension had already seeped into the atmosphere of the school, where fear and confusion and chaos reigned free. The younger students were panicking, the professors were grim-faced and close-lipped, adding to the mass hysteria and the older student were furious and worried at the disruption.

Chewing nervously on her bottom lip, Hermione proceeded to gently lift Neville and using a pathway kindly provided by the Come and Go Room, managed to get both of them back into the Gryffindor common room without much fuss, using the excuse that Neville had fainted after hearing the announcement, much to the amusement and derision of their housemates.

As Professor McGonagall entered via the portrait hole and informed the students of an isolated incident under investigation, without even the slightest glimmer of suspicion being directed at Hermione or Neville, Hermione smirked to herself in sadistic satisfaction and amusement at the simple-mindedness of the professor.

Only fools overlooked the weak.

* * *

Neville awoke after three hours, in an armchair in an isolated part of the Gryffindor common room where none paid attention to them, much to Hermione's heartfelt relief and happiness. He was disoriented and confused, until his memories caught up to him and he swore under his breath for the first time in all the months Hermione had known him.

She blinked, but her watery smile remained as she hugged him as if her life depended on it, clinging to him for a couple of moments where he remained motionless and silent.

"Hermione?" His voice was quiet. Unassuming. Underestimated. And indeed, Hermione admitted that she had grossly underestimated his ability of blending into the background and remaining faceless, nameless and unseen. The very fact that she had failed to notice him following her to that accursed corridor despite all the time she waited for someone to show up already proved his skill at remaining invisible to her, and speaking frankly, Hermione was very impressed, especially given that this was Neville Longbottom, who tripped down stairs more often than he climbed down them.

"Yeah?" She kept her voice soft too, keeping in mind that he had just awoken and was likely sensitive to loud noises and bright lights.

Frustration and helpless anger were evident in his tone as he turned pleading eyes to her and questioned, "What's going on?"

And he sounded so pathetic, so innocent, so confused, so much like the naïve child seeking reassurance from a parent that the monsters under the bed were not going to hurt him, that Hermione's reply died a fast death in her throat and uncomprehendingly, she gazed at Neville, her thoughts still and peaceful for once, without thinking of manipulation or manoeuvring the chess pieces into place.

The truth was, she was one of those monsters.

Could she really lie and say that she would hurt him not?

She doubted she could. She was Hermione Granger. Aside from her family, everything she cherished eventually left. She might as well spare herself and Neville the pain that would assuredly come. Or else, she could accidentally destroy Neville.

She had never hated herself more than that moment where she had realised she was the reason Neville was hurt.

Neville clearing his throat and uneasily glancing at her out of the corner of his eye informed her that she had hesitated for far too long, and fearfully, she replied, "An attack on the school. You… you fainted when you heard the news."

Lieslieslies! Her conscience was screeching at her, banging furiously on the mental bars of the cage Hermione had imprisoned her conscience in, hollering with abandon and crying out distressed words. She ignored it and the ensuing headache as she smoothened out her facial features into an impassive, snooty and dismissive frown, and prepared for one of the biggest lies she had ever uttered in her life.

"You don't interest me anymore, Neville, you're pathetic."

The dawning look of heartbreak and agonised incomprehension burned into her mind.

Hermione despised herself. She wished she had never been born, never spoke such heavy falsehoods, but the words continued out of her mouth without her permission, the cold, calculating and cruel side of herself taking over completely and locking her emotions away with her conscience, as she knew that in the long run, it would be better for both of them not to get too attached, especially if they were only going to hurt the other when the inevitable end came.

"You actually fainted after hearing just an announcement. I've never felt so humiliated to have to carry a boy my age to the common room in front of everyone, and you even fell down the stairs and injured your side before I managed to stop you. Honestly, Longbottom, you're a disgrace to wizardry everywhere."

With that last statement, Hermione knew there was no going back. Neville's shoulders had drooped before rigidifying into a tense position, his facial muscles tightening, his gaze lowering, his hands clenching white with the effort to restrain his urges to lash out. Clear, expressive brown eyes closed off into guarded, wary and infinitely devastated slits as every word seemed to strike him like a physical blow. Stabs to the heart.

Heartlessly, she continued, shifting away from Neville in mock disgust, "I bet your parents would love to see what a failure you ar-"

"SMACK!"

Time stopped.

One hand cupping her rapidly reddening cheek and both eyes focused on the hand that had just punched her in the cheek, Hermione stared, and stared, and stared. She knew, somehow, that she had gone too far.

Neville was breathing sharply, loudly, his face clouded over by hurt and disappointment, his face flushing red with anger and indignation.

"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT MY PARENTS, SO SHUT UP, JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And ignoring his injuries, ignoring the silent common room around them, ignoring the flaring pain in his hand and greater pain in his heart, Neville stormed up to his dorm, leaving behind a shell-shocked Hermione.

She just felt numb. And cold.

**I know this is soooo late…. Please don't kill me? (hides)**

**Okay this story is going cliché now, I'm sorry about that, but I really could picture Hermione giving up her and Neville's friendship if it hurt Neville in the end. Note how she's becoming possessive? For some reason, I kept on thinking New Moon when I wrote this, and I was like urrghh I hope it isn't THAT mushy, or I'll barf.**

**In case you don't get it, Hermione believes that being friends with Neville was a mistake, and she staged the whole fight and said all those words to push him away. Now, you might think, WHY?! The thing is that despite all the things that have happened, this is still Hermione, and Hermione, like Harry, is still a self-sacrificing idiot, albeit a smarter one.**

**I know I said that I would have some revenge here, but this was seriously not part of my plan, but the characters just came to life and I had to write them out. Now I've got to go revise my plans, crap. Evil revenge next time kay?**

**The pace of the story is picking up slightly, and for now the focus is on character development than the overall conflict, which is: Which is worse, the cruelty of Muggles or the cruelty of Magicals? Which should she choose? Hermione has known both, and you could say she is the hybrid with a reason to change the world-for the justice she desperately seeks.**

**Thank you to all those who fav'ed and alerted and reviewed! Now to answer reviews! Oh, and BTW, a poll is up in regards as to who Hermione should pair with. Oh, and please review!**

Stromsten : Does she seem a little more Bellatrix-like now? :D Yeah, pairings are still very far away, but I'd love to hear suggestions! Thanks for reviewing!

Riniko22: Thanks, I think that house-elves could be used in so many ways that it's a shame there aren't more house-elf fics. I'm trying to use OCs without destroying the feel of the story, and I'm not certain how well I did, so I appreciate the advice. :D Thanks for reviewing!

Smithback: Hope this chapter didn't disappoint! Thanks for reviewing!

: Dark Hermione is pretty different, and Dramione is a definite possibility. Thanks for reviewing!

pixiedustchoco: Haha the spells are made up mostly but Bombarda Maxima is a real spell! Thanks, you update too!

feminist4ever: Smart! She definitely is going to befriend Luna and Slytherins, and Muggle tech? Only mechanical muggle tech, because electronics don't work, but I don't see why cars and bows and arrows, etc, won't work. :D I'll take that into consideration,your idea of portraits. I wonder if anyone has realised so far how certain portraits will impact the story in the future? (hint hint) Thanks for reviewing!

Debate4life: She is darker, she's less naïve. :D It'll be darker and darker as the story proceeds. Thanks for reviewing!


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